


Tomorrow Isn’t That Far

by dfastback68



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Canon-Typical Violence, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:22:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29592072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dfastback68/pseuds/dfastback68
Summary: After a job goes wrong, Din finds himself needing to smuggle a child across the mountains in the dead of winter before they’re hunted down. Lucky for them, the Marshal of a little town that isn’t on any map is willing to help.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth
Comments: 57
Kudos: 119
Collections: DinCobb Valentine's Bingo 2021





	Tomorrow Isn’t That Far

**Author's Note:**

> For the Dincobb Valentine's Bingo: Cowboys/Western AU, Canadian Shack/Cuddling for Warmth, Touch Starved Din. 
> 
> Please see the end note for spoilers regarding the violence and some harm to animals, though I've kept it as far from explicit as possible.

The mountains, Din lamented, only grew larger and higher the closer he got to them. Each step added a mile, and the jagged peaks loomed, daunting, taunting, insurmountable. Din looked behind him, down the trail he’d cut through the snow, and knew going back was not an option. At the end of that path was death, and everything he’d lost, save the supplies he could carry himself. 

The path ahead also promised death, a cold and lonely one, but it did have hope. A slim chance. More than where he’d come from, at least.

Turning back to the mountains, Din opened his coat, checking the child that was swaddled against his chest. He felt his toes and fingers for warmth, and the child let out a small whimper, burrowing in close to him. The kid was maybe three or four, certainly old enough to walk, maybe even talk, but he barely made any noise. He hadn’t even been crying when Din had found him.

Pulling the coat back around them, Din forged ahead, sweating under the bright sun and the baleful glare of the mountain peaks.

***

The sky was a shade of blue that Din had never seen before. Everything up here was crisp and sharp, a sort of clarity that was uncomfortable to take in. Din blinked away the ice that formed in his eyelashes, then turned his attention back to the child in his lap. The kid was working his way through an icicle Din had snapped off of a tree, and seemed content, staring off into the woods. He’d eaten a little, earlier, though not much. He was listless, distracted, uninterested in a way that even Din knew was not right for a child.

Din spoke to him, first in his native tongue, and then in English and Spanish. The child responded to neither, though he did react to other sounds, meaning he simply chose to ignore Din. It didn’t deter him from speaking to the child, though. Having someone to talk to was nice, even if they never acknowledged him.

When the kid threw the icicle into the snow, apparently finished, Din turned him around and cupped his little hands between his own, rubbing them together to warm them up.

“We have to keep moving,” Din said, ducking his head, trying to catch the child’s eye. “Okay?”

The kid looked up at him, but only for a moment, eyes darting away uncertainly before he pushed his head into Din’s chest. The eye contact, however brief, warmed Din. That was good. That was something.

***

He knew they didn’t have enough food to last them across the mountains, let alone the next few days. Hunting and trapping would cost them time they didn’t have, so Din kept going. This wouldn’t be his first time pushing the absolute limits of his supplies, or his body. Of course, that was when he had his horse. And there wasn’t a child to consider, either.

In the night, they’d both heard the barking of dogs, and Din knew they were running short on time and distance. 

Help came to them in the strangest of forms. Consumed by thoughts of dogs and food and hunting and the bitter cold, Din didn’t realize he’d stumbled upon a group of children playing in the woods until they were yelling in fear at the sight of him.

“Run, run!” The oldest of them was shouting. “Get the Marshal!”

Din had stopped in shock, raising his hands, trying to indicate he meant no harm as the younger kids scattered. He had no intention of stepping closer, freezing to the spot when the girl, a teenager with dark skin and fierce eyes leveled a shotgun right at him. She didn’t look old enough to be able to handle it, but she held it steady and aimed true, staring him down.

“Don’t you move,” she barked, and Din nodded, flexing his fingers, reminding her his hands were free.

“I mean no harm to anyone,” Din said. “But please, aim your weapon away from me. I have a child here.”

The girl frowned, clearly skeptical. “I don’t see any kids. Uh, keep your hands up!”

“He’s in my coat. I’m not here to hurt anyone,” Din repeated. He needed to get that weapon trained away from him rather than find out she had poor trigger discipline. “Please.”

“Slow,” she conceded. “No _tricks._ ”

Din nodded, very slowly moving his hands to open the front of his coat, until the kid’s head poked out. He blinked up at Din, squinting at the sunlight and twisting around to see where they were. The girl looked surprised, then lowered the shotgun. She didn’t point it at the ground, still ready to swing it up in a moment’s notice, but it was an improvement.

“Okay,” she said. “No tricks, sit tight. The Marshal will sort you out, one way or another.”

Din held his palms out again, making himself as unthreatening and as small a target as possible. They didn’t wait long before the Marshal arrived on horseback, and Din began to curse his luck. People meant food and shelter, but an actual lawman? That was going to slow him down, more trouble than he wanted right now.

The Marshal dismounted, eyeing him and the child with equal parts suspicion and interest, and started talking to the teenager in a low tone. The man was tall and thin, with one hand hooked on his belt, and the other on the grip of his pistol. Din could see silver hair and a beard peeking out from under his hat and scarf. The scarf was blood red, the most colorful thing he’d seen in days.

“Thank you, Jo,” he heard the man say, and the girl nodded, lowering the shotgun and retreating back to the horse. The Marshal stared him down, calling out: “What brings you round here, stranger?”

“We’re only passing through,” Din said. “Like I told her, I mean no harm.”

“No one passes through these parts in the dead of winter,” said the Marshal. “Least of all with a damn baby.”

Shit. “I need to cross the mountain. I don’t want any trouble.”

The Marshal worked his jaw, looking them over. “Tell you what. You come back with me to town. We get you and the kid some hot food and a warm fire. And then you tell me what the hell you’re doing out here. Yeah?”

The man had dropped his hand from the pistol, Din noticed, though his body language was stiff, cautious. Din knew he had limited options here. Lowering his hands, slowly, Din nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

The Marshal turned, motioning with his head for Din approach. He sent the girl, Jo, ahead with the horse while he waited for Din to come up the incline. The child, fully awake now, peered at the Marshal when they were side by side, and the man frowned, looking away.

“Name’s Cobb Vanth, Marshal of Mos Pelgo,” he said, pulling down the rim of his hat to block out the glare of the sun. 

“I didn’t know there were any settlements out here,” Din said. He’d not seen any on the maps he’d been provided, but then, his actual path had been much further north. Vanth grinned.

“We like it that way,” he said.

It was a relatively short walk to the town, the snow thinning out as they hit a well used trail. People were looking out their doors and windows as they passed, curious about the stranger, suspicious of the man that had sent their children running in a panic. While Jo led the Marshal’s horse off, Vanth led them to one of the larger structures in the town, clearly the bar. No one was inside except the owner, who looked up at them from behind the bar.

“We’ve got a guest,” Vanth said, sauntering up to the counter. “How about some stew? And some drinks.” When he had two glasses and a bottle of whiskey, he turned back to Din. “Let’s have a seat.”

Din had thought maybe the child would appreciate being able to escape his coat, and even run around a little, but instead he latched onto him like a tick. After a few unsuccessful attempts to pry him off, Din gave up. If the kid wanted down, he’d let go himself. Vanth had poured their drinks, watching the display with amusement.

“Cute kid,” he said over the rim of his glass. Din said nothing. “What’s his name?”

“Uh,” was all Din had to say, caught off guard, to see Vanth’s eyebrows shoot up.

“I better hear a real good story, soon,” Vanth said, his tone going from friendly to challenging in a heartbeat. “Because if that kid wasn’t clinging to you like his life depended on it, I’d be real suspicious of your intentions, friend.”

Din bristled at the implication, though he knew how it must look: a strange man with a kid whose name he didn’t know, trying to cross the mountains in the dead of winter? Vanth was right to question him.

“I was hired to escort a family out west,” Din said, placing one hand on the kid’s back. “I thought they just wanted protection from bandits, wolves, that sort of thing. I don’t know. When I arrived at the rendezvous, they were all dead. Except the kid. I think -- they wanted the kid for something, but we escaped. All I know is if I take the trails north to where it’s safest to cross the mountains, we’ll never make it. They’ll hunt us down.”

Vanth gave him a hard look. “Who’s ‘they’?”

“I can’t be sure,” Din said slowly. Everything happened too quickly, so messy and bloody. “But I think they’re part of the Remnants.”

Vanth swore. “Haven’t seen those assholes in these parts for years. But what’s your stake in this? Why not just leave the kid?”

“I was just a boy when I lost my family. My home,” Din said, absently stroking the kid’s back. He wasn’t lying, even if it wasn’t the whole truth. “I… couldn’t just leave him.”

“You said they were headed west?”

Din nodded, reaching into his coat to pull out an envelope. “This is the only thing I could salvage from the family, before we had to run.”

Vanth pulled the letter out, frowning at what he saw. “The hell language is this?”

“I’ve never seen it. There’s an address in English, and that name: Ahsoka Tano.”

“Not much to go on,” Vanth mused, stroking his beard. “Listen, like I’ve said, the Remnants haven’t been around here for a long time. We can handle them, though, so we can put you and the kid up until spring, when it’ll be safer to cross from here.”

Din shook his head. “If I stay, it puts you all in danger.”

“This town’s survived worse than them.”

“If you have a map, I’ll be on my way. I don’t want to bring you any trouble,” Din insisted. Cobb made a face, unhappy with Din being so stubborn. Din had the feeling he was going to get the same in return.

“Sure, you gonna cross without a horse?” Cobb asked, and Din had no answer. “No supplies? How much longer were you gonna last as is before you found us?”

Again, Din gave no reply. He was angry because the Marshal was right, though he was spared giving any attempt at an answer when the barkeep brought them two bowls of stew and some hard bread. Din offered the child some of the bread, which he took and didn’t eat. Vanth watched with a frown, keeping his commentary to himself.

“We’ll give you a room upstairs,” said Vanth. “Warm up and rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Din nodded, relieved, though he knew he wasn’t free just yet.

***

Din had every intention of waking early, leaving before first light, but found himself being shaken out of sleep by the Marshal. His first instinct was to grab his pistol, and second was to check the kid. Vanth didn’t seem to care for the weapon, and the kid was still passed out next to him, the blanket wrapped up in his fists.

“Didn’t mean to spook you,” Vanth said. “Come downstairs and eat, then we’re riding out.”

Din sat up, blinking sleep out of his eyes as Vanth left the room, his slim frame briefly silhouetted by the light coming from beyond the door. When he was gone, Din looked to the child, then woke him as gently as he could.

With them dressed and the kid latched around his neck again, Din found Vanth hauling two saddle bags towards the door, setting them down with a grunt. A modest breakfast was spread out, and Din got the kid to unhook from him long enough to eat a little food. Din, meanwhile, watched Vanth.

“I prefer to eat light,” Vanth was saying. “But you eat however much you want. Same goes for the kid. Won’t be many hot meals for a while after this.”

“I don’t understand,” said Din, though he supposed he knew what was happening, just not why.

“I figured you and the kid would be gone, regardless of what I said,” Vanth sighed, running a hand through his silver hair. “And I couldn’t live with myself, knowing you were out there. I’ll guide you through the mountains.”

“I can’t pay you, or even ask that of you.”

Vanth shrugged. “I gathered you weren’t getting paid either. But you seem to think that kid’s special, even if you never said it, and I’m inclined to agree. Now,” he pointed at the table. “Eat.”

Din was left staring after him again, dumbfounded.

By the time all was said and done, the sun was just starting to rise. Two horses were saddled and waiting, and a few of the townspeople had come out to see them off. Well, to see Vanth off, and shoot Din more suspicious and unhappy looks. He felt quite a bit like he was taking something vital from the town.

“You look after them now, alright?” Vanth was saying to Jo, whose eyes were bright with unshed tears, but she kept her chin up, putting on a brave face. “We don’t know if there’s trouble coming, but you’ll be ready.”

Din stood with the horses, watching the Marshal say his goodbyes. Some of the townsfolk had given the kid some clothes, so he didn’t have to live in Din’s coat, or wear what had mostly likely been an altered potato sack. Just the same, the kid was pressed close against him, face pushed into Din’s neck, only occasionally peering out to see the other people. 

Vanth didn’t let the morning drag on, tearing himself away from the people before it turned into a whole production. They led their horses out of town on foot, heading north. Once the well traveled path began to transition to undisturbed snow they saddled up. Din balanced the kid in front of him, letting him grab the horn of the saddle and see the world from somewhere other than inside his coat. His horse, a sweet mare who Vanth had called Princess, was well behaved and minded her bit, so he kept the reins loose as they followed the Marshal.

They rode in relative silence, the sky turning from purple to pink to that stunning blue. The snow was so white it hurt to look at, and Din was glad he didn’t have to mind their path, or watch where they were going. The child seemed to be more interested in the world around them, now, but he still looked up at Din with those big brown eyes, asking him something Din couldn’t read, or parse. 

It was midday when they came out of the trees, and were able to ride side by side. Vanth started talking, then, rambling about the town, about the people, about the trails and their life out here.

“Every spring we take this trail through the mountain,” Vanth was saying, glancing at Din, one eye squinted shut against the glare of the sun. “There’s a town just the other side, we like to check in on each other. Trade news, other goods. All goes well, you’ll get to see it.”

“You don’t have a map of this trail?” It was all he would have needed, anyways, or so he thought. Vanth didn’t need to put himself out like this.

“We do. But it’s only marked for the spring and summer months. This time of year any one of our routes could be under twenty feet of snow.” He gave Din a sly look. “Wouldn’t do you much good if you don’t know the alternate routes.”

Mos Pelgo was a strange town, Din decided. Not just because it was nestled in an inhospitable part of the mountains, or because the people all seemed to be running from something. It was an anomaly, a closely guarded secret that would look out at the world, and didn’t want the world looking back. He thought he could find some comfort in that.

When they made camp the first night, the kid didn’t venture far from Din, leaning towards the fire and staying bracketed within the safety of his calves. He stared at Vanth from over Din’s knee.

“I know the little guy didn’t come with a name,” said Vanth, his smile soft, though not enough to coax the child away from Din. “But I never got yours.”

It wasn’t something he shared often. Most people just called him ‘stranger’. “It’s Din Djarin.”

Vanth seemed to sense he’d uncovered something, that soft smile shifting from the kid to Din. He felt pinned under it. “Well,” Vanth drawled, watching him over the fire. “Pleased to meet you, Din Djarin.”

The night closed in, cold and dark, and the morning drove it off, just as crisp and sudden as every other morning in the mountains thus far. The sky was too blue, the sun too small yet still punishing, and Vanth led them through a winding path only he could see.

Din learned that Vanth liked to talk, and didn’t seem to mind the lack of response from his companion. He talked about the mountain peaks rising above them, the valleys they would ride through, the different kinds of snow that buried them. When Din did respond, it was always short and to the point. When he referred to Vanth as Marshal, the man rebuffed him with a snort.

“Just call me Cobb,” he said. “Besides, I’m not a real Marshal. Outside of Mos Pelgo you won’t find anyone that’ll recognize my authority.”

“The town certainly respects you,” Din said, feeling as relieved as he did understanding. It made more sense, now, why Vanth -- Cobb had been willing to guide him, believe him, rather than arrest him for stealing a child. An unorthodox man for an unorthodox town.

“Everybody starts somewhere.”

The conversation trailed off there, but Din still found himself looking towards Cobb, as if he were still talking, still somehow drawing Din’s attention away from the intimidating mountains and the traumatized child in his lap. 

***

The first few days of their journey passed much the same. Clear skies, blinding white snow, easy banter. Din knew better than to think this would continue, that he could have done this on his own without Cobb’s help. When they woke one morning to a muted sunrise and slate grey skies above them, Din knew their luck had turned. By the time they’d finished breakfast and the child was bundled up again, snowflakes had started to drift down around them.

“This time of year, I reckon the mountain’s got one last nasty storm left in her,” Cobb was saying, tugging the girth of his horse’s saddle. Both the horses seemed restless this morning. Din could empathise. “Hard to tell what this is. Maybe just a light snow. Either way, we ride as long as we can. We’re close to shelter.”

They pressed on, and the grey sky yielded to dark, angry clouds, heavy as they swept through the mountain peaks. With them came a punishing wind, whipping snow and bitter cold into their faces. Din opened his coat long enough to turn the kid around and tuck him in, his little face red and miserable. 

Cobb urged the horses on, keeping them going for far longer than Din thought was possible. When they stopped, Din looked up, surveying the area around them, blinking through the ice that had formed on his eyelashes. Cobb turned his horse around to come up alongside Din, nearly shouting to be heard. 

“The pass is gone,” he was saying, and Din squinted through the snow, seeing no path forward. Just ice and rocks. A fresh rockslide, maybe. “There’s another way, but we’ve got to backtrack. How’s the child?”

Din peered into his coat. The kid had somehow fallen asleep, smashed against his chest and warm and safe. “He’s fine. Let’s go.”

It wasn’t as bad once the wind was to their backs, and Cobb allowed them a short break to relieve themselves and give the horses a rest. It was short lived when Cobb led them back around, up a new route that had them facing the biting wind again. The path was rocky and treacherous, forcing them both to dismount and lead their horses through surer footing. Din had one hand holding Princess’s reins, the other tucked under the child’s legs, keeping him close. More than once he almost lost his horse to a nasty fall. Cobb didn’t fare much better ahead of him, cursing at the wind and urging his horse, who he called Annie, to move up faster.

The path wound up the mountainside, then back down, and was no less dangerous. By the time they’d reached the bottom, Din’s entire body ached, shivering as his sweat cooled. They were losing daylight fast, and the snow had deepened here, nearly reaching their knees.

“We’re close,” Cobb said, leaning towards him once they were riding side by side again, the horses pressing in for warmth. Din was inclined to think they had the right idea, finding his body canting towards Cobb whenever they were jostled close enough.

They reached the so-called shelter before sundown, while the temperature dropped with the light. It was little more than a shack, and it had certainly seen better days.

“Shit,” said Cobb, lips twisting into a grimace as he surveyed the caved-in roof. “Told that sonovabitch it wouldn’t last another season.”

Din pushed at one of the standing walls, and it didn’t give. “If the structure is sound, it will be enough. We can fix what we need to.”

Cobb gave him an appraising look, then nodded, and they got to work. After Din set up the horses, keeping them in the shadow of the shack to protect them from the worst of the wind, he helped Cobb pull the splintered roof off the floor. The child, bundled in his own coat and wrapped in one of the horse blankets, watched them calmly, where any other child would be screaming from the cold and the wind. 

It was true dark by the time they finished, with no dry wood for a fire, but they managed without it. The sturdiest remains of the roof they leaned against a wall, creating a small, cramped space that provided enough walls and a roof over their heads. They shed their coats and then wrapped them over each other’s shoulders, pulling one of the blankets over them with the child cradled between them. At first the kid shied away from Cobb, clinging to Din, but as he drifted back to sleep, he relaxed against them both.

Neither of them offered to take watch, or even discuss it. There would be nothing worse out there than the weather, anyways.

“‘Bout what you expected?” Cobb asked. He had one arm over his stomach, the other at his side, pinned between himself and Din. Din’s own arms were crossed, which the child was using a pillow, though it bent his neck at a funny angle. Din could feel the heat from Cobb’s body from his shoulder all the way down his leg, where they were pressed together.

“Could be worse,” Din shrugged, and Cobb laughed.

“Now don’t tempt fate,” he admonished. 

The wind howled outside, shaking their little shelter, but it kept them safe through the night. Din woke to a silence so absolute he held his breath, almost afraid to shatter whatever spell had been cast over them. When he finally heard one of the horses natter outside, he exhaled, then pulled back the blanket to check on the child. He ruffled the kids hair, and he looked up at Din blearily, blinking and yawning before burrowing in against him again.

Cobb more or less hadn’t moved through the night, stirring awake now with an irritated grunt. He stretched his long legs out in front of him, boots peeking out from under the blanket, listing against Din before pushing himself upright.

“Hell,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It gets harder and harder to sleep places that ain’t my bed. Must be getting old.”

“That the only sign?” Din asked, looking at Cobb’s silver hair after he took his hat off, the strands sticking up every which way. Cobb looked startled, which was normal when people realized Din had just made a joke.

“Ass,” Cobb snorted, elbowing him. “You’re one to talk.”

He reached up and tugged at the patchy beard at Din’s jaw, where the first of his own grey hairs were starting to come in. Din flushed under the attention, but was spared having to defend himself when Cobb flipped the blanket off of his legs and crawled out of their shelter, mumbling something about the horses.

Making sure the kid’s clothes were set to rights, Din followed out after him. The angry storm clouds had blown themselves out overnight, it seemed, but it was still grey and dark above them. A steady snow was falling, dampening all sound. Even Cobb’s muttering was muted as Din carried the child into the trees, giving them both privacy to attend to the child’s business. Din stared upwards as the kid dithered, blinking at the fat snowflakes that landed on his face, caught in his lashes and hair. 

Din let the kid lead the way back to the horses, shuffling through the snow where it wasn’t too deep for him. He was venturing further and further from Din, which ought to be a relief. Instead, it made him anxious.

Cobb smiled when he realized the kid was coming his way, stepping forward to meet him before he ran afoul the backend of one of the horses. Din felt some long repressed, unnamed emotion rise in his chest when Cobb picked the kid up, greeting him like they were old friends. 

When the kid wrapped his arms around Cobb’s neck, Cobb looked at Din over his head, eyebrows raised, showing his teeth in a wide smile. Din couldn’t help but smile, too. Maybe the kid was going to be alright, after all.

***

The snow stayed with them for days, blanketing the landscape in silence and a fresh layer of sheer white. Cobb led them out of the slippery treachery of the rocky pass, and down into one of the sloping valleys. He always explained to Din where they were headed, and why. After that night in the shack, Cobb started pointing out their alternate routes where he could. There was the map, of course, but Din thought Cobb must have decided he didn’t think Din was going to knife him in the night, and run off into the mountains on his own.

Din thought maybe it was the kid that helped. A few times now he’d ridden with Cobb, and having the kid’s approval had certainly charmed the Marshal. The child still didn’t speak, barely uttered a sound, but he did smile. Once, he blew a raspberry at Din when he asked him to take a rock out of his mouth.

“You know anything about the people he was with before?” Cobb asked, nudging his horse closer to Din’s as they weaved their way through the snow.

“Not really,” said Din. “I was hired by a mutual acquaintance, someone I’d done jobs for previously. There were… maybe half a dozen of them, not including the kid. Pilgrims or monks or something, the way they were dressed. Same as him. Unarmed and ambushed.”

“And you think the Remnant was after the kid?”

“He was alive for a reason,” Din shrugged. “They were going for him when I arrived. Shot two of them, scared off the rest. Thought I had more time to sort out what had happened, but they came back with more. Lost my horse, most of my gear, but we got away.”

“Never did understand those people,” Cobb grunted. “They talked up some kind of military order in these parts some years ago. Just a bunch of hotheads, going around terrorizing vulnerable folk. Thought they’d all been chased out of the territories, or just disbanded.”

“We could only be so lucky,” Din said. “They killed my family, too. When I was a kid.”

Din kept his eyes forward when Cobb jerked his head to look at him. It was the most personal thing he’d shared since they met. It was maybe the first time he’d even spoke of it, to anyone. It didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would.

“Where are you from, anyways?” Cobb asked, testing the limits of Din’s generosity.

Din paused, then only said: “South.”

“I’ve been south, partner,” Cobb said. “Never met anyone like you.”

Again, Din said nothing for a moment. “Very far south.”

Cobb arched a brow, but he didn’t ask again. He’d heard as much as he was going to get out of Din for the day.

***

The sun came back, yet with it the temperature plummeted. The latest snowfall turned to hard ice, and Din’s lungs burned when he breathed in. Cobb’s beard had turned to ice, and they took turns hiding the child in their coats, protecting him from the freeze. 

Cobb continued to talk, distracting them from the cold. He named the trees and the scarce wildlife they saw flitting among them, shared local myths and legends. He never once asked Din for a story, but Din knew he wanted to. Aside from what he’d shared the other day, Din found it too hard to share. He’d spent so long keeping everything to himself, for protection, for safety. He owed Cobb more than what he’d already given him.

They braved the bitter icy cold as their path led them upwards again, out of the gentle hills of the valley and into the rocky steps once again. 

They’d heard wolves at night, and had a too-close encounter with a bull moose that Cobb had, somehow, handily talked them out of. Din had been spooked by the size of the damn thing, but they stayed still, stayed out of its way, following Cobb’s lead, and there was no trouble.

Trouble, of course, was part of the mountains. Cobb led their horses into the trees, grunting when his mare started to fight him, shying away from his chosen path. Princess knickered, and Din leaned forward to pat her neck, shushing her.

“They smell something,” said Cobb, working his jaw as he scanned the trees, just trying to keep his horse from turning around completely. “We can -- _shit!_ ”

Given the size of it, Din would later wonder how in the hell they hadn’t seen the bear coming until she was right on top of them. The horses spooked, Din’s own mare rearing back. With the kid wrapped up under his coat, Din lost his balance and toppled from the horse, rolling into the snow to avoid getting trampled when she turned and ran.

Din scrambled to his feet, one arm clutched around the kid and the other grabbing for his pistol. He could hear Cobb shouting, his horse screaming in fear, but Din’s attention was focused entirely on the bear. She had chosen him as the weakest target, barreling down on them before he had the chance to even aim his gun.

He was aware of the pain, in general, though not where or how hard she hit him. Din found himself face down in the snow, the world spinning around him, sharpening back into focus when he remembered the danger he was in. His pistol was gone, flung off into the snow somewhere, and the kid --

Din rolled onto his back, sitting up quickly as fear gripped him. It was a kind of panic he hadn’t felt since a child, not even when he’d fought the Remnants for the kid in the first place. The child was a few yards away, apparently unharmed, save for the massive bear facing them down. She was growling low in her throat, menacing and showing her teeth. Din could see her muscles flex, preparing to attack again. 

“No!” he shouted, launching to his feet with no weapon, no plan, just the impulse to get himself between the child and the bear, consequences be damned. Din knew, deep down, he’d never make it in time. It wouldn’t stop him from trying, though.

The bear lunged, massive paws reaching out for the kid, rearing up -- and then up, and _up._ Din faltered, watching the bear rise up from the ground, her snarls turning panicked, feet scrambling at thin air. She was maybe a foot or two off the ground, straining to right herself, and Din looked down at the child.

He was sitting in the snow, hands thrown out in front of him, his little face red from the cold and exertion, screwed up in concentration. It couldn’t possibly -- but it was.

Din caught a flash of red out of the corner of his eye, turning to see Cobb had been running towards them. He was gaping at the scene before them, frozen to the spot.

Seeing Cobb had his shotgun, Din shouted: “Shoot - shoot it! Shoot it, now!”

That seemed to shake Cobb out of it, bringing him back to himself. He raised his shotgun, but Din turned back to the kid, who was starting to shake. The bear was getting closer to the ground.

The shot rang out. The bear hit the ground, and Din dove for the child just as he dropped, too, catching him before he collapsed. Din fell back on his ass, scrambling away from the bear, but she didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

Din cradled the child against him, brushing his hair back out of his face, which was pale and colorless. He ducked his head against the child’s face, barely able to catch his breathing over the sound of his own pounding heart and his ragged breaths.

But it was there. Din’s fingers found his pulse a moment later, but he still clutched the child to his chest, feeling as though the world might end, that the kid would stop breathing if he let go. He started when he felt Cobb’s hand on his shoulder, the Marshal kneeling down next to him.

“Is he…?” Cobb trailed off, anxiety creasing his face, betraying his weathered age.

“He’s breathing,” Din said, and Cobb sighed, ducking his head. He squeezed Din’s shoulder, then slumped down next to him, looking over the bear.

“Okay,” said Cobb. “Mind telling me what the _fuck_ just happened?”

“I -- “ Din faltered. “I have no idea.”

“Nothing in the job description about magic babies?”

“ _No,_ ” Din closed his eyes, dropping his face to press it to the crown of the child’s head. Cobb said nothing for a few minutes.

“Okay,” Cobb said again. Din didn’t care if Cobb believed him or not. Even if the Marshal turned back and left them, Din wouldn’t care about that, either. “Shit. The horses. You just -- hang on, you’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” Din said automatically, without considering where he was even injured. He flinched when he felt Cobb’s hand on his face, wiping blood off his forehead.

“Looks shallow,” he said. “You stay put, though. I need to round up the horses, then we can patch ourselves up. Just -- yeah. Hang tight.”

As if they were going anywhere. Still, when Cobb stood up, Din lifted his head to watch him trot off into the woods, calling after the horses. When he was gone, he looked at the bear, then down at the kid again.

They wouldn’t be making any sense of what they’d seen any time soon.

***

The horses were both unharmed, but just as spooked as Din and Cobb. Just the same, Cobb got them sorted and back on the trail again in a very quick and clinical manner. As they rode, the Marshal kept sneaking looks back at Din -- more accurately, where he had the kid bundled up against him.

As they rode, Cobb at least settled into his usual role of talking Din’s ear off. It didn’t take long for the conversation to swing back to the bear incident.

“Still out?” Cobb asked, nodding towards the child. Din opened his coat, watching for any sign of movement.

“Still out,” Din confirmed.

“Another day’s ride, and there’s somewhere we can stop for shelter,” Cobb said. “Better than the shack, though that’s assuming the roof stays intact. We can give the kid a break.”

Din just nodded. The cold was biting, worse every day, and the sky was greying out again. Cobb didn’t seem concerned, so Din didn’t mention it.

“When the Remnants used to sniff around Mos Pelgo, they knew how to get under people’s skin,” Cobb said. “Really creeped people out, what they asked for. Not just the militia stuff, but like they were after witchcraft, or artifacts. Didn’t make a damn lick of sense.” He hummed. “Seems there was something to it, maybe.”

Din nodded, but added nothing to the conversation. Cobb was content to let them ride in silence, leading the way with just as much care and confidence as before. They might have gone a little slower now, though, peering into the trees rather than be complacent again. Frozen as they were, life still went on as usual in the mountains.

After a long time, Cobb looked back at Din, frowning. “You look like smoke’s gonna come out your ears if you think any harder. Or are you concussed after all?”

Din managed a wry smile at that. “No. I was… remembering the songs they used to sing us when we were young. Tales of warriors and dragons. Even wizards. That my people had a terrible enemy of magic users, a bitter feud that lasted generations. Of course the history we learned when we were older was more grounded in reality. What you said, though, about the Remnants. That there was something to it. Just…”

“I don’t know your ‘people’, Din, but don’t tell me that baby is your sworn enemy now.”

“Not what I meant,” Din muttered, but he did catch the smirk Cobb shot him, before turning his attention to the trail ahead. After a few moments of silence and internal debate, Din spoke again: “I was raised by Mandalorians.”

There was no response from Cobb at first, and Din wondered if he’d misstepped entirely. It wasn’t like him to reveal that, anyways.

“Mandalorians,” Cobb said slowly, as if testing the weight of the word in his mouth. “I reckon they’re a lot like wizards. You hear a lot of tall tales about them, but you don’t think they’re real. No one you know has ever met one. But now I know _you,_ and that magic kid of yours. I think I might be a believer after all.”

When Cobb glanced back at him, something about the way he looked at Din made his gut clench and his hands sweat. Cobb didn’t ask for more details, and Din told him nothing else. 

The mountain peaks seemed less jagged somehow, frozen but frosted in warm tones. Maybe Din was just getting used to the landscape, after all.

***

Cobb’s trail, Din learned, was going to cost them some time. He hadn’t intended to make the stop, but insisted they needed it. The kid needed it, at least. Aside from the weather and the bear, Din had to admit the mountains had not been unduly harsh. They could afford the detour.

He regretted it, though, when their path became so choked with snow they were forced to dismount and lead the horses on foot. The snow was nearly up to his chest, and the horses struggled and slipped, but they pressed on single file with Cobb leading the way.

It was near nightfall the next day when they reached their destination. Din was relieved to see it was far more substantial than the shack, and not just because the roof was intact. This was a proper cabin, with a makeshift shelter for the horses, even. If there was dry wood, they might even enjoy a fire.

“Not too bad, huh?” Cobb grinned at him when they stepped inside. It was dusty and hadn’t seen any living beings except perhaps mice in the last season, but it was a far sight better than the harsh wilderness. “You get the kid settled, I’ll see about our firewood situation.”

There was no furniture, but the small upstairs loft had some furs that Din could fashion a soft place for the kid. He hadn’t woken in the day and a half they’d been riding, but Din still checked his pulse, his breathing, inspected his fingers and toes for any signs of frostbite or poor circulation. Other than being entirely unresponsive, the child was perfectly healthy.

Once Din had the kid swaddled in the furs, he walked the interior perimeter of the small cabin, looking for drafts or rotten woodwork. He had finished cleaning out the fireplace when Cobb came back, clutching firewood in his arms. Cobb kicked the door shut behind him.

“This probably won’t last the night, but it’ll give us something,” Cobb said, letting Din take some of the wood. They knelt in front of the fireplace together, stacking wood. “How is he?”

Din shrugged. “No different. Not worse.”

Eventually Cobb shooed him away so he could start the fire himself, and Din covered himself in one of the horse blankets, with the child at his hip. Once there was a fire, Cobb joined him sitting on the other side of the kid with a blanket of his own. As the light faded outside, the room was cast in an amber hue, flickering with the fire. 

Cobb had brought in more of their supplies, so they shared a meager meal, sitting shoulder to shoulder, preserving as much heat as they could. A few times, Din caught Cobb glancing down over at him, as if trying to ascertain something but not quite curious enough to ask outright.

“We’re close to being over the worst of it,” Cobb said, awhile after they’d eaten. They leaned against one another, the child cradled between their thighs. Din could feel his steady breathing, his small heartbeat. “But we’re going to have to push through it hard. Even if we hadn’t come here, we’ve gone slower than I would have liked. The horses are low on food.”

“We could have pushed harder,” Din said, frowning. “You should have said something sooner.”

Cobb shrugged. “There was no helping it. Push the horses too hard in the kind of weather we went through, and we’d been frozen solid out there with them. Never said this was going to be easy. Just gotta be lean for the final push.”

Well, that much Din was used to. Cobb hadn’t said anything about their own food, and since the kid had skipped a few meals now… Well, he’d give up his portion for the child if he woke up hungry. Din had little doubt that he would.

When he caught Cobb glancing at him again, Din finally asked: “What are you looking for?”

Even in the low light he could see the flush that hit Cobb’s face. “You said you were a Mandalorian. I was just wondering…”

“Yes,” Din asked, before Cobb had to flounder through asking. “I have them.”

Cobb was silent a moment, waiting to see if Din would say more. When he didn’t, Cobb said: “None of my business, anyways. I apologize if -- “

He stopped when Din stood up, bending to adjust his blanket against the kid. Din pointedly avoided eye contact as he shed his outer layers, though he could feel Cobb’s eyes on him. Copying Din’s placement of the blanket, Cobb stood up as Din pulled off his last layer, fully exposing the tattoos that ran from his neck down his torso and arms, past the hemline of his trousers. They were the symbols and markings of his tribe and clan, his achievements and his trials. A few spots were bare, waiting for completion, but he’d also been very, very far from home for a long time. It had been years since he’d seen another Mandalorian.

He held still under Cobb’s appraising eye, mindful of the way the Marshal was staring at him. Cobb stood close enough that he could feel the heat of him, though his skin pricked with the cold air, this far from the fire.

Cobb met his eye, brows raised. “May I?”

He should say no. As it was, this was already a bridge too far. Revealing his tribe was dangerous under normal circumstances, but this -- he didn’t know. Din just nodded, swallowing thickly.

Cobb’s touch was slow and careful, not hesitant, but gentle in the way he thought he might spook Din if he moved too quickly. His fingertips traced the lines of the marking on his shoulder, leading across his clavicle and down his chest. Din shivered, and it had nothing to do with the cold.

“This okay?” Cobb asked, stepping closer to Din, who nodded haltingly. When Cobb’s fingers circled a nipple, causing it to pebble, Din sucked in a breath. Cobb’s hand stopped, spreading his fingers out over Din’s chest and just resting it there. “Tell me I’m not reading this wrong, partner.”

“You’re not,” Din was quick to say. “It’s -- it’s just been awhile.”

“Nothing has to happen,” Cobb said, his other hand coming to rest on Din’s hip, the thumb tracing the jut of his hipbone. He was so close now, and Din was all too aware of the way his trousers had grown tight. Cobb seemed to sense this, as his hand slid down, pressing his palm flat against Din and making him gasp.

Din grabbed Cobb’s wrist, stilling any further movement. “The child -- “

“Isn’t gonna hear a damn thing,” Cobb said, looking back at the kid, bundled in more blankets than could possibly be necessary. He was soundly asleep, his face peaceful and no longer gaunt and wane as it had been. Still, Cobb removed both hands. “I’ll stoke the fire, make sure he’s warm. You head up there, hm?”

Cobb tilted his chin towards the loft as he spoke, and Din just nodded. There wasn’t much privacy up there either, but at least they wouldn’t be right next to the kid.

There were still furs and blankets left up in the loft, smelling musty and old. When he and Cobb crawled under them, both naked now, Din hardly noticed. Cobb’s touch was still gentle as they came together, while Din was hesitant, clumsy at best. Cobb reminded him they didn’t have to do anything else; Din admitted he’d never been with another man before.

Din couldn’t help but flush when Cobb called him sweet, and then shook when Cobb took him in hand. He called him other things, too, as he kissed his way down Din’s chest and under the blankets. Darling, sweetheart, partner, each word and hot press of Cobb’s mouth making Din squirm. Cobb made short work of him, swallowing him down eagerly and working around the desperate buck of his hips and the vice grip of Din’s hands in his hair. Din gasped into the furs, then clamped his hand over his mouth to silence himself, undone by that mouth and tongue. Cobb licked him clean to the point of discomfort as he trembled in the aftermath.

While he recovered, Cobb guided Din’s hands down his body, showing him what to do, what he liked. Cobb thrust into his hands until Din learned the rhythm, stroking and twisting until Cobb gasped in his neck, pushing his face to his throat. Cobb took care of the evidence of his release with his tongue again, sucking on Din’s fingers.

They lay like that awhile, leeching each other’s body heat under the furs until it grew too cold. Din tilted his head to look down to the main floor, the fading light from the dwindling fire casting shadows about the child. He hadn’t moved.

When they dressed it felt like a solemn affair, as if what had happened in the loft was a passing fantasy. Din knew it had happened. The way Cobb watched him dress was evidence enough of that. 

Din gathered the child against him when he lay down in front of the fire again, touching the back of his hand to his forehead. Warm, but not feverish. Cobb threw the last of their firewood into the mantle, stoking the heat and light back to life. He sat down next to them, only gathering the furs across his legs.

“I thought he was your son,” he said, and Din looked up at him. “Looks like you, you know. His hair, his skin. Those same, sad brown eyes.”

“I don’t even know his name.”

Cobb shrugged, and they fell silent for a time, staring into the fire. “If you find where he belongs, you should come back to Mos Pelgo.” When Din didn’t respond, he continued: “It’s not very welcoming out there, as I’m sure you know. But when we found the town, it was an easy choice to make it ours. As safe a place as any for people that needed refuge. Everyone there knows what it’s like to not fit in, because of the language they speak, the color of their skin, their heritage, the… people they love.”

Din turned his head to look at Cobb, admiring his profile, stark in the light of the fire.

“People with nowhere else to go,” Cobb said, catching Din’s eye as he looked down at him. “People like you and me.”

“That would be nice,” said Din. Cobb smiled tightly, as if gleaning the meaning behind Din’s words. Nice, _but..._

He didn’t push it. Din supposed he was well versed in rejection. Instead, he leaned back on one elbow, his other hand reaching out to card through Din’s hair. It was unkempt and lank, but that didn’t deter Cobb. Neither of them were exactly clean.

“I’ll take first watch,” said Cobb, voice low as Din pushed his head into Cobb’s palm. Cobb raked his fingers through his scalp. “Why don’t you tell me about home?”

Din didn’t have one. Mandalorians had no country or territory of their own, but that didn’t stop Din from telling him where they’d been. That he’d lived in and knew mountains down south, too, though they were nothing like the jagged, towering Rockies. He spoke of their little villages, their kind people, their skilled warriors. When he spoke of the Mandalorians, he was less guarded than usual, even explaining a few of his tattoos. 

Cobb listened, rarely spoke, and Din didn’t know when he fell asleep, but the child was cradled to his chest, the back of his head fitting neatly into the palm of Din’s hand. Cobb’s presence was immediate, both physically and spiritually. The light of the fire dwindled, and Din slept.

***

There was an immense pressure bearing down on his chest. At first Din thought he must be dreaming, but then the weight shifted, and he jolted awake, sitting upright and nearly launching the kid off of him. Din caught him before he tumbled to the floor, and the kid threw his arms around his neck, whining. Next to him, Cobb cursed, sitting up and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Christ almighty,” he drawled. “Must’ve fallen asleep. Shit. I can -- “

He stopped when he noticed the child, face breaking out into a grin.

“Well, well, well,” he cooed, ruffling the kid’s hair with one hand. “Look who’s awake. How are you feelin’?”

The child responded by shoving his face back into Din’s neck. “Probably hungry,” Din sighed. Cobb’s expression softened.

“Get him sorted. I’ll check on the horses.”

When Cobb was gone, Din sifted through their rations, letting the child gnaw on some half frozen jerky while trying to thaw the rest between his hands. They shared a few bites together, and the kid watched him carefully. He seemed to be eyeing the dried blood still plastered to the injury on his hairline.

“You saved us, little one,” Din said. “But we were scared we lost you.”

Jerky hanging out of his mouth, the child put his hands on Din’s face, looking very serious for one so young. Din laughed, charmed by the gesture, whatever it meant.

As they ate, Din continued to talk to the child. He switched between English and Spanish, sometimes his native tongue, but the child never reacted to any of it. A few times the kid reached for his face again, but Din brushed him off to keep him eating. Once he finished, he climbed out of Din’s lap, looking around as if he’d just noticed the cabin around them.

The door opened, and Cobb walked in with a rush of cold air, kicking it shut behind him quickly. The child broke into a run at the sight of him, arms stretched upwards.

“Whoa!” Cobb laughed, stooping to heft the child up under his arms, lifting him above his head before looping one arm under his legs, bouncing him as he swung in a circle. The child squealed in delight. “Happy to see you too, little guy.”

Din watched the two of them interact, feeling something warm and content crawl up out of his chest. Cobb met his eye as the child hugged his neck, smiling as he pressed a kiss to the kid’s forehead.

“Well, how lucky are we?” Cobb laughed. “We both smell like the ass end of a horse, and he still comes running for a hug.”

Cobb sat down next to Din, balancing the kid on one thigh as he regaled him with some wild tale about cowboys and bandits and horse thieves and, for some reason, a dragon. The kid was fascinated, eating everything that Din handed to him, for which they were both thankful. As Cobb spoke, Din leaned back on his elbows, content to listen and just exist in this space, cold or not.

***

If they’d had more food and firewood, they might have stayed longer in the cabin. With the kid awake and healthy, though, Cobb had them moving out before noon. The kid seemed reluctant to leave the cabin, probably thinking they’d meant to live there, but he didn’t protest when Din lifted him up to ride with Cobb.

Their progress was slow. There had been an alternate route to get them back on the main trail, but they found it buried in snow too deep even for them. They were forced to backtrack, and loop around the way they’d come in the first place. It put Cobb in a sour mood. They’d lost time, and their supplies were growing thinner by the day. 

Evidence of their original path hadn’t been entirely eliminated by the snow and the wind. They’d made no attempt to cover their tracks, which Din hadn’t necessarily agreed with, but it would have cost them even more time. The mountains weren’t a danger to just them, anyways. As much as it threatened them, the harsh environment would protect them, too, from anyone that might follow.

At least, that was their thinking. A few days out from the cabin and the wind picked up again. With no snow, it was relatively tolerable, but it was still biting and miserable. Back with Din, the child burrowed into his coat.

“You see that?” Cobb shouted, despite riding side by side with Din now. He was pointing towards the slope ahead, rising high and peppered with evergreens and rocks. “The last hurrah, partner. Let’s hope spring’s come early on the other side.”

Cobb gave him a wide grin, and Din nodded, allowing himself a smile as well. They were close, but that climb was going to be hard on the horses, not to mention them. The kid had been eating everything Din gave him now, including a few meals he’d given up himself. It didn’t take Cobb long to notice before he started sharing his rations with Din. Din wanted to refuse, but knew Cobb wouldn’t accept that, so they split their meals, content with the child having a full stomach at least.

When they reached the treeline, the wind shifted, and Din felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. A moment later, Cobb looked back at him, frowning.

“That ain’t wolves,” he said, yanking the reins to pull his horse around. “That’s hounds.”

Din raised his hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun above, squinting across the field of snow they’d just crossed. The trail they’d left behind was obvious, but the bloodhounds that came crashing across the snow were still wild with the frenzy of their scent. They were followed by men on horseback. Half a dozen Din could see, maybe more behind them

“Shit,” Cobb spat, tightening up the reins as Din did the same, their horses nickering as they picked up the scent of fear and the hunt. “Come on, up a little further. That way we’ll have the high ground. Hyah!”

Digging his heels into his horse’s flank, Cobb spun around and urged them up the incline, Din close behind. Under his coat, he felt the child cling to him as their pace changed, and the ride got rougher. They didn’t go far: Cobb stopped them where they could find some cover, leaving the horses loose so they could bolt to safety if need be.

With the kid clinging to his front, Din pulled his pistol and took Cobb’s as well, while the Marshal loaded his long gun. Crouched behind two different boulders, they peered down below them. Din counted ten horses now, each with at least one rider, and three hounds. Not very good odds, but they had the advantage of their position. Hopefully.

The first shot rang out, and neither of them flinched. It was a scare tactic, and both of them knew better than to waste ammo until their target was in range, or they had a clear shot. It didn’t take long: the hounds reached them first, and Din swung out from behind the boulder, his first shot dropping one, and the second missing its mark.

The horses weren’t far behind, and Cobb tracked them easily, tracking the barrel of the gun over his cover and opening fire. One of the men toppled from their horse, and Cobb ducked back down to reload. 

A whistle rang out, and the two remaining hounds turned around before Din could get another shot at them. 

“We only want the child!” A man shouted, his voice oscillating with the wind. “Surrender yourselves, and you won’t be harmed!”

Din and Cobb looked at each other from across the gap between their respective cover. Din shook his head, and Cobb nodded. Together they stood and opened fire, scattering the men and their hounds once again. 

It got messy after that. Outmanned and outgunned, Din and Cobb fought back as fast and hard as they could. The sound of gunfire and shouting and braying horses and barking dogs filled the air. One man came up on Cobb’s flank and Din dropped him with one neat shot. He aimed for another but wound up getting flushed out of cover when one of the hounds came barreling over the boulder, teeth bared.

Din dove into the snow, twisting to keep from crushing the kid and throwing his arm up over his head. The dog’s jaw clamped down on the sleeve of his leather coat, thankfully missing skin -- this time. While the dog snarled and yanked at his sleeve, Din scrambled to get one of his pistols out from under him. The dog let go, then lunged again, but never hit its mark. Something big leapt over Din, colliding with the hound and sending them both tumbling down the hill. Din lifted his head, watching as what could only be a _wolf_ snap and growl at the hound until it shrieked and ran off. 

Din had only a moment to duck his head again when two more wolves came up from behind him, but they had eyes only for the Remnants ahead. A shot rang out from somewhere in the trees above them, and then another one. Din watched one of the horses drop, and a third shot had the men retreating towards the treeline for cover. The three wolves gave chase, and any man not on a horse went down quickly. Best he could tell, there were only three men left, of the ten or so that had attacked them.

He holstered one pistol, wrapped his arm around the kid under his coat and stood slowly, turning with one pistol still at the ready. On the slopes above him stood two people, both armed, though their rifles were pointed down. One of them raised his hand, palm out flat. Probably the friendliest greeting they were going to get, given the circumstances. Din nodded to them, holstered the second pistol, then turned to look at the carnage they’d made of the mountaintop. When he spotted Cobb, his blood ran cold.

The snow around Cobb was stained red, and he wasn’t moving. When Din ran for him, he was stopped halfway when one of the wolves came trotting up between them, fixing its yellow eyes on him. He froze, hand twitching towards a pistol, but someone above them whistled. The wolf’s ears swiveled forward, twitching, and then it ran past him.

Letting out a sigh, Din hurried over to Cobb, kneeling in the snow next to him. He was breathing, and groaned when Din put a hand on his shoulder. Din helped him roll onto his side, sucking in a breath when he saw Cobb’s hand clamped over his stomach, pressing against the bloody gunshot wound. Cobb coughed, spitting up blood.

“The kid?” he asked, weakly, and Din nodded, at first not understanding the question in his shock. “Yeah?”

“He’s okay,” Din finally answered, fumbling to reopen the coat. When the kid turned his head to look at Cobb, Din caught him and pressed his face back against his chest. Probably not the best thing for the child to see, no matter what he’d live through before. “He’s fine.”

“Hey, were those wolves?”

“Stop talking. Save your strength. We’ve -- we’ll get you out of here.” Din was approaching the wrong side of panic. Even if he found their horses and the medical supplies, that wound was going to kill Cobb quickly. He was surprised the man was even awake and aware.

Hearing footsteps in the snow, Din turned to see both of the people had come down, their wolf between them. He didn’t think the other two had come back from chasing off the Remnants. The man tugged at the brim of his hand, looking between Din and Cobb, though his gaze lingered on the child a moment.

“Who are you?” Din asked, still wary despite the fact they didn’t seem interested in hurting them. 

“We’ve been watching you,” the man said, glancing at his companion. All Din could see of her beyond the black scarf wrapped around her face was a pair of dark eyes and dark hair, which was draped in a braid over her shoulder. The man nodded towards Cobb, who looked barely conscious. “Your friend is injured. We have shelter nearby.”

Din could weigh his options, but he knew he had no choice. They would have died without the help in the first place, and Cobb certainly had no chance without them now. Din nodded, but said: “We have no money, nothing to trade.”

The woman laughed, then said something in a language that Din did not recognize. Apparently her companion knew it, as he just nodded at her.

“If we wanted money, we wouldn’t be out here,” he said. Looking at the woman, he pointed out towards the woods. “Gather up the horses, and call back the hounds.”

After she left, the man slung his and Cobb’s rifle over his shoulder, then lifted the Marshal as though he weighed nothing. Cobb’s pained groan tore at Din’s heart, but he followed the man as they headed up the mountain slope.

The man introduced himself as Boba Fett, and his companion was Fennec Shand. He offered no explanation as to who they were, or why they’d been watching Din and Cobb, but he could guess. Mos Pelgo was a place for the marginalized; others ostracized themselves to different extremes. The right kind of person could live out here unseen for years.

Once they were out of sight of the blood and death they’d left behind, Din opened his coat and held the child up against his chest, letting him hug his neck. Ahead of them, he could hear Boba speaking to Cobb, asking him simple questions, keeping him awake. Din couldn’t hear if Cobb responded or not, but Boba kept talking nonetheless.

Even if Din had been in a better state of mind, he wouldn’t have understood the winding path they took. They went deeper into the trees, and then next he knew the forest opened to a clearing where a cabin was built in under the shadow of a cliff face. It wasn’t much bigger than where they’d stayed a few days ago; he wondered if Cobb even knew it was here.

Inside was much the same as their little cabin, but with more furnishings, and certainly well lived in. It looked like Boba and Fennec were stocked to last the winter, and well beyond. They clearly planned to be out here for a long time.

Boba laid Cobb down on the table, who hissed in pain. Din set the child down on the floor, hurrying to lean over Cobb, taking off his gloves to wipe his sweaty hair back off his forehead. Cobb looked up at him, his teeth bloody and his eyes glazed. His breathing was labored.

“Almost made it, huh?” Cobb gave him a weak smile, then grimaced, eyes screwing shut as pain lanced through him again.

“You’re going to be fine,” Din said, lying to himself, to Cobb, to the universe. He stroked Cobb’s face as he coughed, wet and loud. “Okay? We’ll take care of this.”

Din pulled away from him, turning back to Boba. Before he could say anything, he said: “If you want to help, get a fire started. The bullet is still in there, and we need to get it out now.”

Though his hands shook, Din managed to get the fire going in the fireplace. He was distracted a few times by the kid, who kept trying to climb up on the table to reach Cobb. The child resisted Din every time he put him back on the floor, face screwing up like he was about to have a tantrum. Shucking his jacket, Din tried to swaddle him in it, turning him away and unable to deal with the sudden show of emotion and defiance.

Boba instructed Din in what he was doing and how to help. Din struggled to keep up, with the child practically hanging off his leg and the panic that had settled into the forefront of his brain. People didn’t survive gunshot wounds to the gut. The way Cobb looked up at him, he knew that, too. The pain and gore of removing the bullet just seemed like needless torture.

Din nearly jumped out of his skin when the door burst open, and Fennec strode in, followed by one of the wolves. It limped past her, blood dripping down its leg, but paid them no mind as it hobbled over to the fire and laid down with a groan. Din was suddenly glad the child was close to him now, because that wolf was _much_ larger than he’d first thought.

“Take his legs,” Fett said, and Fennec nodded. Din knew his part: hold down Cobb’s torso to keep him from thrashing.

Din was a warrior, well versed in weapons and the art of killing. He’d been the reason some men died of this very gunshot wound, and he was no stranger to violence. This -- this was entirely out of his realm of experience. He couldn’t watch whatever it was Boba was about to do, leaning down over Cobb and letting his head hang down so all they could see was each other’s faces. Cobb’s hands squeezed his biceps, grimacing in pain and anticipation, and then his face transformed into the very definition of agony.

Cobb screamed, the child wailed -- and Din sang, fumbling over the words of his mother tongue in a song he hadn’t heard since he was very, very young. It wasn’t one of the tall tales about wizards and soldiers, but a halting lullaby he’d honestly forgotten about until right in this moment. He didn’t know if it helped Cobb or the crying child, or if they even heard him, but eventually Din heard a thump on the table, and Boba said: “It’s out.”

Cobb went slack under him, and Din released the vice grip he had on the Marshal’s forearms. The child whimpered, still hugging his leg.

Bracing himself, Din lifted his head, blanching at what he saw and averting his gaze from the work Boba had done. He understood the wound would need to be stitched up, but wasn’t certain if Boba’s skillset extended that far.

“You are a Mandalorian,” Boba said, and Din looked up at him sharply. Boba had rolled his sleeves up at some point, and under the blood Din could see the familiar tattoos snaking up his forearms. He could tell they did not extend up past his elbows. “I haven’t heard that song in a long time.”

“I was a foundling, last I heard it,” Din said, surprised by how steady his voice was.

“My father was a foundling,” Boba said, then nodded towards Cobb. “I can dress the wound, but he’s lost a lot of blood. We’ll have to watch him closely.”

Din knew what that meant. Fever, infection, sepsis. There were a lot of ways they could still lose Cobb, and none of them were painless. Cobb just looked resigned, his face ashen, the color of his eyes dull.

He felt the child release his leg, and then attempt to climb up the table, so Din picked him up under his arms and set him down on the floor. Din had to grab him again when he tried to maneuver around him. The third time, Din was pushed beyond the edge of frustration, grabbing the child a little too harshly. “What has gotten into you, little one? Let Cobb rest.”

The child squirmed away from him, and when Din reached for him again, the kid whipped around, throwing his hands up. Din knew what was going to happen before it hit him -- the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he went skidding backwards three feet, his boots squeaking on the floor. Both Boba and Fennec froze, and the wolf lifted its head, ears up. The child turned to continue his climb back up to the table, leaving Din stunned. Well, he supposed he was lucky the child hadn’t just blasted him through the roof.

As the child clambered up onto the table, Fennec retreated a few feet, eyes wide, but Boba held his ground. He was watching the child with an intensity Din wasn’t certain he liked.

Cobb flinched when he felt someone else’s hands on him, moaning weakly as he tried to understand what was happening now. He frowned when he realized it was the kid, leaning over his abdomen. Din came up to them cautiously, and when the kid didn’t react, he put one hand on the child’s back. The kid looked up at Din, who asked: “Can you help him?”

Din didn’t expect any sort of response, and he didn’t get one. The kid closed his eyes and leaned over Cobb, face screwing up in concentration as he pressed his hands to Cobb’s abdomen. It made sense to him now, after the fact. The way the kid had tried so hard to reach the injury on Din’s head after the bear, looking petulant when his help had been refused. Din couldn’t have known the kid was trying to help, though.

Cobb’s shallow breathing grew deeper with each breath, belly expanding as he gulped in air with less and less pain. The wound began to shrink, the skin knitting itself back together as the child’s hands began to shake. When the wound was nothing more than a small, star-shaped mark on Cobb’s stomach, the child relaxed, his concentration broken. Cobb and the kid stared at each other, and then Cobb began to sit upright at the same time the child fell backwards. Still behind him, Din caught him, lifting him up in his arms to cradle him close. The child was unconscious, just like after their altercation with the bear.

“Are you telling me,” Cobb gasped, chest still heaving. “That he could have done that the _whole goddamned time?_ ”

“Would he have known to remove the bullet, first?” Boba asked. He seemed disturbed, but not afraid. Fennec was eying them warily. “If not, it would have just killed you slowly.”

“Fair point,” Cobb shrugged. He sat upright, gingerly poking at the small scar that had been left behind. “Either way, you saved our asses out there. We owe you.”

Boba shrugged. Din had already told him they had no money, but he’d helped them nonetheless.

Fennec spoke, again in a language only Boba could understand. Din didn’t know if she did it on purpose, or just didn’t know English. She’d responded to it before, though, so more likely they were choosing to share information between each other. With her face uncovered now, Din could understand her hesitation around strangers. When Din had told Cobb he’d come from very far south, Din knew her answer might be that she came from just as very far east. Boba nodded to her.

“I only require information,” said Boba, and Din felt his arms tighten around the child. There was always some payment expected, if not cash. “We’d like to know why a Mandalorian is smuggling a child of the Jedi across the mountains, pursued by the Remnants.”

Cobb opened his mouth, then shut it. He looked at Din, confused, a little worried.

“As I said, my father was a foundling,” said Boba. “When he died, I was raised by the tribe, I heard those songs, like the one you sang. I never took the Creed, though.”

Din nodded, though it was a lot to take in. It had been years since he’d seen another Mandalorian. Boba Fett was the closest he was going to get, it seemed. Still, he couldn’t answer anything without more information himself. “You said ‘Jedi’?”

Fennec spoke, though neither he nor Cobb could understand her. Boba smirked. “Fennec is right. Let’s clean ourselves up, sit down, eat and have a chat.”

Cobb seemed to think he was included in helping clean up, until he saw how much blood he’d lost, and then _felt_ how much blood he lost when he stood up. Din ushered him over to a low sofa by the fire, and they dressed him in one of Boba’s shirts, which was too loose but better than bloody and torn. After some prying, Din relinquished the sleeping child to Cobb, so they could rest together.

“Least I can do is watch over him,” Cobb said. “I think I owe him my life twice over, now.”

Normally very guarded with information in general, Din wound up explaining the entire story to Boba and Fennec. How he found the child, how he ran from the Remnants and found Mos Pelgo. Cobb supplied a few choice details of his own after that, but in the end, the two hunters seemed satisfied with their tall tale, floating bears and all.

“I am surprised you have not heard of the Jedi,” Boba said. “They ought to be extinct, but they persist. The Mandalorians of old knew them well.”

“Hey,” Cobb said, scratching at his jaw. “You mentioned songs you heard as a kid, with wizards in them. Reckon they just stopped using the word ‘Jedi’?”

“It’s possible,” Din nodded.

“There were old enemies,” said Boba, and Din felt himself go still. Cobb’s arm tightened around the child. “One killed my father.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Cobb said, cautiously. Boba gave him an even look.

“I’m not going to harm the child because of it,” he said. “Mandalorian, foundling, Jedi -- doesn’t matter, a child is a child. He’s safe here. All three of you are. I suggest you stay a few days, recover. Fennec and I will watch the hills.”

Loathe as he was to remain anywhere for too long, Din agreed. They did stay three days and three nights, because while Cobb’s wound had been healed, he had still lost quite a bit of blood. He remained ashen and easily tired, left to rest with the slumbering child as they both recovered from their respective traumas. 

They saw little of either Boba or Fennec during those days, the pair of them riding out with two of the wolves at dawn, and only returning near sundown. The third wolf, her leg bandaged and healing, remained with them, and Din found her to be a suitable companion. She stayed by the fire, mostly, but often curled up near whichever one of them had the child. Din took it upon himself to keep the house in order, from making certain everyone was fed to mucking the small stable where their horses had been sheltered. The wolf often joined Din outside, watching him and watching the trees for her owners to return.

Din also cooked, but a few complaints from Cobb had them swapping that role when he was well enough. 

On the second day the child woke up, bleary and confused, clinging to Din until he realized that Cobb was in sight -- and then ran to cling to Cobb, instead. Still tired, the child was shy and even refused food when Boba and Fennec returned for the night. By the end of the third day, though, he was more energetic. Instead of clinging to Cobb or Din, he took to burying himself in the wolf’s fur, while she licked the crown of his head.

The dawn of the fourth day saw them ready to leave. No one had come through the valley after them, though Din suspected they weren’t entirely safe just yet.

“We’ll be heading East in the spring,” Boba was saying. “We’ll find Mos Pelgo, and see to it the people there are safe.”

“I don’t know how to repay you,” Din said. 

“We’re no friends of the Remnant. Return the foundling to his people,” Boba said. “You are a Mandalorian. You know what must be done.”

Din only nodded. Boba and Cobb exchanged a few words about Mos Pelgo and the path forward. Held against Din’s chest, the child watched them, looking at Fennec, who winked at him. Rather than hide his face, the kid giggled.

“Safe travels,” she said, which made Cobb stop mid sentence in his conversation with Boba, surprised. She held out a pendant to Din, who took it, watching her carefully. It was a fox’s face, carved from wood. “If you need help, there are places that will take you if you show them that.”

“Thank you,” he said, tucking the fox away in one of his pockets. “We owe you a tremendous debt.”

Fennec smiled, though it was not unkind. “I’m sure our paths will cross again, Mandalorian.”

The horses, after being rested and essentially pampered for days, were reluctant to be led away from this safe little alcove in the woods. The trail from their cabin, Cobb noticed, was smoother than the one he would have led them down. 

“Gotta wonder what the hell people like that are doing out here,” Cobb said, once they were a few hours out. The child was riding with him, currently, after a rather tearful goodbye with the wolf. “They could live up here for years and not need to come out for supplies. I don’t like to think about it, if they watched me and the townsfolk cross through here last spring without us knowing.”

“It does seem odd,” Din agreed. “If we weren’t odder.”

Cobb laughed. “Hey, what did he mean, back there? About what had to be done, and all that.”

Din was silent for a moment. “A child found on the battlefield is adopted into our tribe as a foundling. Our first priority is to return them to their people, when possible.”

“And if it’s not?”

“Then we raise them as one of our own,” he said. “Like I was.”

“Even if he’s the kid of some ancient enemy?”

“Yes,” said Din, watching the kid, whose attention was riveted above them, where an eagle soared. “Even then.”

Cobb watched his face a moment, then turned back to the trail ahead. He said nothing more, ruffling the child’s hair when the eagle flew out of sight and his attention returned to the landscape around them.

***

“Hey,” Cobb called from his perch above them, a snow capped boulder that cast a shadow over where the horses grazed on a rare patch of grass. “Come up here and take a look at this.”

Din looked down at the child, who was currently occupied with the necklace of leather he’d fashioned for him this morning. He’d looped the wooden fox onto it, along with an iron signet of a cattle skull, the mark of his people. His tribe, and Fennec’s tribe, or her equivalent. The kid had two talismans to protect him, now.

He left the kid to entertain himself, following the path Cobb had taken up to join him on top of the boulder. Cobb gave him a wide grin.

“There she is,” he said, pointing towards the horizon. “You spend so long in the mountains you forget they end eventually.”

Din found himself agreeing when he took in the sight before them. Instead of more looming mountain peaks, the horizon was a flat plain stretching out beyond the treetops. It was windswept and patchy, but the snow was fading.

“Looks like spring _is_ early this year, too,” said Cobb, reaching up to squeeze Din’s shoulder. Din leaned towards him, giving him a lopsided smile of his own. 

“We would have never made it without you,” said Din, but Cobb shook his head, patting Din’s shoulder before dropping his hand.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Cobb laughed. “We can celebrate when we’re in Sorgan. No sense jinxing us now.”

Their path was steep, but sloping downwards, taking them further from the daunting mountains. The plains would have their own perils and dangers, but it was something Din thought was more familiar, more manageable. Anything would, after what they’d just crossed.

Cobb picked up their old trail easily enough, eventually leading them along a meandering stream, which was growing fatter and stronger with the ice melt from the mountains above. The horses kept trying to stop and graze on the patches of grass that had started to appear. Spring flowers were starting to bloom between the rocks, and tiny birds hopped around them, splashing in the puddles.

It was nearing late afternoon when they heard voices, the wind carrying laughter. Cobb didn’t seem disturbed, but they dismounted and led their horses on foot, until they came across a group of women gathered by the stream. They froze when they saw the men, one of them glaring at them, until her face registered shock, apparently recognizing Cobb.

“Howdy, Omera,” Cobb said, grinning wide and tipping his hat towards. “We’re a bit early this year.”

Omera waved away her companions, who had mostly relaxed. Cobb was known to them, but they peered at Din cautiously. “If you’re here now -- tell me you didn’t cross before midwinter.”

He shrugged, then looked back at Din, who held the kid in his arms. “Well, we had something important to do.”

The woman looked at them, eyes lingering on the child and Din nodded to her. She seemed ready to ask about a hundred more questions.

“It’s a long tale, darlin’,” Cobb sighed, holding up one hand. Din felt seized by a strange emotion when Cobb said ‘darling’, as if he’d somehow misunderstood something very obvious, and felt foolish for it. “We could use a wash. Maybe a nice bed, roof over our heads, hot meal --”

“Oh, you just take and take,” Omera scoffed. “But you _do_ smell as good as you look. All three of you. Come on, we’ll get you sorted.”

While Sorgan didn’t have a Marshal like Mos Pelgo, Omera was as close to being the one in charge as anything else, Din learned. The town was a little larger than its counterpart in the mountains, and he could see an actual road stretching out down the hills. As Cobb explained it, they did more trading and were less isolated, but still self-sufficient. They kept the mountain trail connecting them as close to a secret as possible.

A lot of people were excited, and shocked, to see Cobb. Just the same, their horses were led off to be tended to, and soon Omera had a bath drawn for them when the water had been heated.

The two of them squeezed in with the kid, and Cobb let out an obscene sound when they were submerged in the hot water. It was cramped, their legs tangled together with the kid between them, but modesty was no issue by now. They washed away weeks of grime and dirt and mountain, muddying the water almost immediately. The child was happy to be pampered by them, giggling when Cobb massaged his scalp to clean out his curly hair.

Omera had left them clean clothes, and Din was aware of Cobb’s eyes on his body as they dressed. He didn’t bother to look away when Din caught him at it, eyes slowly dragging up to meet Din’s. “Those tattoos really go all the way down, huh?”

Din just arched a brow at him, and Cobb laughed. There was a knock at the door, and Cobb called out: “We’re decent.”

Din disagreed, but hastily pulled a shirt over his head rather than voice that, turning his back as Omera came in, with a young girl clinging to her skirt. Omera had a basket of supplies.

“I thought you might like some help with your hair,” she said, and Cobb grinned.

“Is the rugged, wild mountain man not your type?” Cobb asked, tugging at the stray hairs of his beard. Omera laughed, and Din pretended not to notice the easy way she and Cobb bantered back and forth.

At Din’s request, she cut the child’s hair first, getting his messy curls out of his eyes. Since Omera had brought a shave kit with her, Din busied himself with grooming what had become of his own unkempt, patchy beard, while Cobb entertained Omera’s daughter, Winta. They traded off, with Din sitting to get his hair trimmed, and Winta swept up what fell to the floor, humming to herself.

Through his fringe, Din watched Cobb tame his beard, and he realized he hardly remembered what the man had looked like when they first met. Bit by bit the image of the Marshal returned as he trimmed back his beard and mustache with practiced ease. Cobb caught his eye in the mirror and winked. Worse yet, Din realized Omera had seen him staring, and he fixed his attention on the floor until she was finished with his hair.

Cobb was last, and Din sat nearby while the child hung off of his leg, so far rebuffing Winta’s attempts to talk to him. Din stroked his hair, and now that it was shorter, brushed it back to find a small shock of white at the kid’s hairline, near his temple. He thought of what the kid must have endured before Din had found him, and the energy he must have exerted using those powers of his. Eventually the white would grow in and be obvious, but for now he brushed the hair back over his forehead, covering it up.

Winta, undeterred and rocking back and forth on her feet, asked Din: “Can I take him outside to play?”

“I don’t think so,” Din said, at the same time Cobb said: “I think that’s a fine idea.”

They looked at each other. Omera said nothing, but Winta looked between the two of them, still hopeful.

“He’ll be fine,” Cobb insisted. Din considered resisting just on principle, but… what argument did he have? Once they left Sorgan, when was the child going to have another shot at a normal day, with other children?

“Alright,” he relented, nodding to Winta. Beaming, she took the child’s hand, who followed her reluctantly. Din kept his face blank when the child looked back at him, but followed Winta outside without complaint.

“You really aren’t going to name him?” Omera asked, still focused on Cobb’s hair.

“He isn’t mine to name,” Din said, staring at the door where the kids had vanished. He could feel Cobb watching him.

“Yet you’ve crossed a mountain for him, and now you’ll cross the plains, to the western territories?”

“Yes.”

“He’s a lucky child.”

Din turned to look at them, and Cobb met his eye. “He is very special.”

***

They were given a space in the loft of Omera’s home, not much more than a pallet with bedding, but it was warm and dry. With the child safely between them, exhausted from a day of socializing with people that weren’t Cobb or Din, they slept soundly.

In the morning Omera came up to take the child down for breakfast.

“All of the children help with breakfast,” she said, as Din was caught between not wanting to let the child out of his sight, but also being seen so openly in bed with another man. Both things were out of his control, though, and Omera urged them to stay and rest as long they needed.

“You can get up if you want,” Cobb said, still half awake after Omera had left. He’d rolled onto his side, occupying the space vacated by the child. “But,” he continued, and Din felt his fingers ghost down the curve of his back. “I’d really rather you didn’t, though.”

“Won’t we be missed?” Din asked.

“No,” said Cobb, pressing his lips to the back of Din’s neck, slowly sliding in behind him, slotting them together. His hand went still on Din’s side when he felt how tense he was. “Omera gave us privacy for a reason, partner.”

Din considered that. “You’ve done this before.”

“Didn’t peg you for the jealous type,” Cobb sighed, but his hand resumed its travel, stroking down to Din’s hip. “I’m going to say yes, because it’s the truth. But I don’t want to give you the impression it’s a yearly habit of mine. Just every now and again, when the timing and the company was right.”

“Just the special ones?” Din asked, then hissed when Cobb pinched his hip, chastising.

“You are special, Din Djarin,” Cobb said, mouth so close to his ear he shuddered as his beard tickled his skin. “You’re a good man. I happen to like good men.”

“Do you? Yesterday, I thought -- “

“What, me and Omera?” Cobb laughed. “We go way back, but not like that, darling. Even you could pick up on my flirting. It’s how you know I like you, one way or another. I’ll say it same as last time: we don’t have to do anything,” Cobb said, though his hand snaked down between Din’s legs, making him gasp. He felt Cobb’s smile against the back of his neck. “But I think I know what you want.”

Din twisted his head around to kiss Cobb, perhaps the best way to tell Cobb that yes, he agreed, Cobb did know what he wanted. Maybe better than Din himself. Cobb leaned into the kiss, shifting so Din didn’t have to twist too far. They kissed slowly, then with increasing hunger as they moved against one another. 

Cobb worked him open with his fingers, slick with an oil he’d procured from seemingly thin air. With one arm wrapped around him to keep Din’s back pressed to his chest, Cobb guided Din’s thigh over his hip, sinking into him as Din moaned into their kiss, mouths wet and open. Cobb rocked into Din, kissing him through it and telling him how good he was, how good he felt. Din felt electric, flayed open and held together all at once, turning his head and burying his face into the pillows when it became too much, too overwhelming, and Cobb held him through it, stroking his hair out of his face and kissing his neck.

Even in the aftermath, Cobb was attentive and careful. While Din lay there, boneless, sated and euphoric, Cobb cleaned them up, occasionally ducking his head to press his lips to Din’s forehead. Din had never lain with another man like that before, and yet he somehow found himself thinking that the kissing was the best part. He let Cobb touch his tattoos, watching his hands trail over his thighs, his calves. Cobb marveled at the artistry, and called him beautiful, laughing at Din’s embarrassed flush.

Cobb sat by Din and stroked his hair until they were both ready to join everyone else for breakfast, though Din would be happy to never be seen by anyone else, ever again.

Their day was spent among the townspeople, as Din readied himself for the next leg of the trip. Watching the child run about with the other kids in this town made him ache to leave him here, let him have a halfway normal life. If Din thought he’d truly be safe here, he might have done it.

As for himself: Din thought he would never belong anywhere. Cobb told him that Sorgan was like Mos Pelgo, that it was a safe enough place for people like them in a world that would see them cast out or killed. Tempting as it was, he knew he couldn’t stay. Eventually he would head south again, and rejoin his tribe, wherever they were now. Home was not a fixed thing to him, and it hadn’t been since he’d been found and raised by the Mandalorians. Home was always on the move, with whatever you could take with you, and sometimes not even that.

They stayed another night. Omera and her daughter made them dinner, and Din had to carry the child up into the loft, as he had fallen asleep long before anyone else. Being surrounded by so many people and other children wore him out, though he seemed happy. Din hated to ruin that.

Much like his first morning in Mos Pelgo, Din had resolved to be awake and gone before the sun rose. Instead, he found himself woken by Omera when she came to collect the child again, leaving him alone with Cobb in the dark.

This time Cobb straddled his hips, taking him deep as Din held Cobb’s thighs, which were toned and firm under his hands, but still bruised easily. Cobb’s hands wandered over his chest as he rode Din at a steady pace, following the pattern of the tattoos he could see in the low light. Din missed the kissing in this position, but when they had both found their release, Cobb leaned down over him and pressed their lips together. Din could feel him smiling.

Side by side on their backs, Cobb ran a hand down his front, fingers tracing over the scar on his belly.

“I really shouldn’t be alive,” he said, and Din turned his head to look at him. Cobb’s gaze was fixed on the ceiling, brow creased.

“I don’t understand how it happened, or how it’s possible,” Din said, reaching between to take Cobb’s other hand in his own. “But it did. And I’m glad for it.”

Cobb just leaned over and kissed him, and they kissed for a while, long enough for Din to lose his breath and ache for Cobb again. Leaving had always been easy for him -- he never stayed anywhere long, and people were temporary, even other Mandalorians. This, though, was proving to border on painful.

After he’d cleaned up and dressed, Din left the house to go to the stables and see to his horse. He was confused to find she’d been saddled along with Cobb’s horse, with a pack mule stamping her hooves alongside them both. Surely there’d been a misunderstanding, but the stablehand shook her head, insisting she’d heard her instructions rights.

“No misunderstanding,” Cobb told him, when Din had come back to the house and told him what he’d found. “Made up my mind last night. The plains ain’t the mountains, so I’m no guide, but I don’t think you’re going to refuse the help.”

“What about Mos Pelgo?”

“The town can manage fine without me,” Cobb shrugged. Omera and the children were still out, but breakfast had been laid on the table where Cobb sat. “Besides, with Boba Fett and Fennec out there, that’s what really got me. I get that you’re used to doing everything on your own, and for a long time, I was like that, too. But we have friends out there, now. And I don’t know why you found that child the way you did, or why you wound up in Mos Pelgo because of it, but I _do_ know it’s for a damn good reason. I owe that kid my life. Plus, his papa’s pretty easy on the eyes.”

Din felt himself flush, both from the compliment and the implication of fatherhood, and just… all of it. “I’m not --”

“Don’t you dare disagree with any of those things,” Cobb cut him off. “It’s a long road ahead, so you’ll have plenty of time to come up with a counter argument that I won’t listen to at all.”

Din stared at him. “I don’t deserve you.”

“I’ll change your mind,” Cobb said, standing up and sauntering over to him. He leaned towards Din, nearly touching their noses. “I can be _very_ persuasive, partner.”

The sun was just starting to inch its way over the mountaintops when they were ready to leave. Winta was clinging to her mother’s legs, lips wobbling as she fought back tears. Din held the child in his arms, the kids arms looped around his neck. It was impossible to tell if he knew this was a goodbye, though he looked around them with interest, if not a little uncertainty. Din assumed he’d pick up on the pattern eventually, though hopefully they’d return him to a stable family life where he didn’t have to worry about where they’d be the next day.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Din said to Omera. “I will find a way to repay you.”

“No need,” she said, smiling softly as she ruffled Winta’s hair. “You’re always welcome here. You and the child. But… we wish you luck finding his family.”

Cobb’s farewell was more familiar, with a kiss to Omera’s cheek and a crushing hug for Winta. “We’ll send word back when we can. And when you see Jo in the spring -- tell her I’ll see her soon. Stay safe, and watch for anyone that comes behind us.”

“We know how to deal with them,” Omera said. Her tone, and the look in her eye, betrayed the sort of woman she’d been before becoming a mother and a widow. The people of Sorgan, like Mos Pelgo, had fought hard lives to make it here. Din respected that.

With one last tearful goodbye from Winta, they were off. The child rode with Din, and the mule trailed behind Cobb’s horse. The western horizon was still dark, almost ominous with the unknown road stretching out into the distance. But as the sun rose higher, it grew brighter ahead of them with spring birdsong and melting snow along their path.

“You lead the way, now,” Cobb said, even as they rode side by side. “I can’t guide you through places I’ve never been.”

“That’s alright,” said Din. “I think we can manage it together.”

“Yeah,” Cobb smiled at him, squinting a little as the sun hit his eyes when he turned his head. “I reckon you’re right.”

It was a long road, as they had all been to take Din this far. It didn’t seem so bad with Cobb at his side, and the child in his arms. Home might not be a fixed place, but if it came with him, he supposed he was starting to get a feel for it.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes about what this story contains:
> 
> A bear is shot and killed  
> Horses and dogs are injured in a gunfight  
> A character suffers a gunshot wound, and the bullet must be removed


End file.
